Aftermath
by Sapphires Frost
Summary: Post DotM One-shot (turned into full-blown story): Barricade, blinded and heavily damaged, struggles with the only decision left to him, surrender and discard his beliefs, or be off-lined. The interceptor knew death was inevitable, but he's not keen on meeting his maker just yet...
1. To the very end

**A/N: Warning: /Spoiler Alert/ if you haven't seen DotM.**

**Yeah... dunno what to say about this. I was shocked and surprised, having just come out of the movie theater and I couldn't comprehend the destruction and death I'd seen. I didn't want to face the facts, so I wrote.**

**Barricade, Optimus, Bumblebee, Wheeljack/Que, Ratchet, Ironhide and everyone else belongs to Hasbro.**

**I just own my writing. Do NOT claim as your own, unless of course you like the idea of being hunted down by a cynical black and white interceptor.**

**P.S. It keeps eating the *'s so... sorry.**

Barricade felt a heavy hand press down on his shoulder before attempting to pick him up rather harshly. Quickly onlining his battered systems, the Decepticon elite attempted to look up at the face of his attacker, only to find that his optics wouldn't online. Ignoring this major problem for the moment, the Saleen kicked out at the bot lifting him up, presumably hitting the mech in a spot quite uncomfortable, he really couldn't guess where, and was unceremoniously dropped from what seemed a great height.

The black and white felt his insides lurch, and something on his HUD tell him he was falling-no, duh!-before he smashed into the pavement, causing several of his readouts on his CPU to switch to critical. Ok, it was about time the interceptor _saw_ who he was dealing with, even as he heard someone call out to his fellows. A brief scan was all Barricade needed to tell him that his optic lenses were shattered, several sniper rounds remaining in the slots were all four optics ought to be.

"Over here! There's a live one!" A voice called out, partially recognizable to the trashed elite.

"We cannot allow any Decepticons to remain alive." Now THAT voice was horribly familiar, as well as the charging of a great big cannon. Optimus Prime…

"No!" Barricade gasped, rolling out of the way of a blast and scrambling to his peds, backing up unsteadily. He felt his back press up into something that was surprisingly his size, maybe only a couple of human inches shorter than he, and familiar hands place on his back. Bumblebee! And then he was shoved forwards, an angry whistle parting from the Camaro's vocalizer.

The Decepticon hit the ground on his knees, sending grit into the joints even as he tucked and rolled, springing to his peds once more and pitching forward, flailing for something to grab hold of to right himself. Once again, he walked right into some bot, and based on the grill on the mech's front, he could only assume it was Ratchet, the Autobot who had found him. Barricade steadied himself only momentarily before backing up, circling slightly, trying to bring his battered defenses online, even as he paced about unseeingly, trying to find the source of his enemies. He didn't want to fight, but he liked the idea of dying even less. He had no doubt he was probably one of the last few elites on the planet, if not the only one. He had gone unconscious, if not temporarily offline, when the humans had attacked Shockwave's small group, and now he seemed to be in some kind of living hell.

Barricade felt another blast explode near him from a direction he hadn't anticipated a bot being at (he realized belatedly that the Wreckers had probably been drawn by the noises), and as the heat blossomed, it threw him back, sliding into the ground face first (near as he could tell based on the feeling of more grit being blasted into his face plates). The interceptor struggled onto his hands and knees, spitting grit from his maw and snarling weakly. He was being toyed with, he knew that much. The Autobots were hacked, and probably had every right, but they were _playing_with him. HIM! The hunter! It infuriated him, and he pushed himself upright, struggling to bring himself to his peds and transforming two guns from his hands, aiming them on either side of him while his hackles spiked up and a deep growl parted from his vox. He knew he probably had the look of a very desperate bot, but he didn't care. That's what he was! All he wanted to do was remain online.

"Leave me alone!" He snarled, a desperate tone leeching unbidden into his voice. "Can't you just let me be?!"

He heard the stomping of peds coming his way from behind, and the Saleen whirled to try and aim at the danger, but he felt a hand knock his weapons to the side and a digit jabbed at his messed up grill. "You! You cruel, awful, _monster_! You killed Que! In cold blood, you killed him! I'll kill you!"

Barricade felt the rounded digits of the four fingered hand grip his grill and attempt to tear of off. He screeched, and brought his gun around to knock Bumblebee in the side of the helm, kicking him away as he backed off, crouching to lower his center of mass even further. He didn't want to fight, and he tried to make that plain to the Autobots.

"I had no choice! You try turning down a direct order from the Decepticon 3IC! I had to do it!" Barricade retorted; hearing a gun charge to his right he rolled, dodging just in time as another blast, presumably from one of the Wreckers or Mirage, was fired at him.

"Bee, take it easy," Sideswipe's voice sounded near where Bumblebee was. Barricade eased slightly once more onto his peds, feeling the strain of all of this dodging and whatnot on his already battered frame. He noticed that Prime had gone silent, and wished he could look at the mech to see what he was doing.

Actually, being in the center of a ring of Autobots was rather unnerving, as any one of them could decide to shoot him then and there. The small Decepticon knew enough not to fool himself into believing he could survive another blast for any kind of weapon, large or small.

"He killed 'Jack!" Bumblebee projected, emitting a deeply remorseful cybernetic noise. He prepped his gun and charged it up.

The Saleen froze, angling his blind eyes towards the Camaro, trying to plead silently for the yellow to allow him to live. _Please…_ the look said. _I don't want to die… don't do this… please!_

Barricade waited, his optics shuttered after a long moment, squeezing shut over his shattered optics, crunching down on some of the pieces of glass that were in the way and he tried to turn his shoulder to the direction the yellow and the silver were in. It was a look that indicated he was simply waiting for the blast, waiting to be killed in revenge for the life he had taken earlier that day.

The Chevy gave the equivalent of sighing, an unnecessary gesture, as they couldn't actually breathe, but a habit he had picked up none the less from Sam. "I… I can't do it."

Barricade unshuttered his optics and inclined his head in Bee's direction, a slight relief about him. "I don't want to die. Please. I'll defect, I'll do almost anything, just don't kill me."

"Their ain't much to defect _from_," a rough voice spat from behind the Saleen, causing him to turn slightly, stumbling a little and pitching forward once more as a large chunk of debris disrupted his footing. Barricade fell heavily on his forearms, feeling his chest scrape painfully against the ground. He snarled, holding back the yelp that the pain caused him to utter.

The black and white lay there for a long moment, his intakes cycling air quickly, trying to cool his severely overheated core. His strong jaws were clenched together as more warnings flickered onto his HUD, alerting him of his critical condition. He heard the soft shuffling of peds as one bot, he thought it was in Ratchet's direction stepped towards him, hesitated, and then moved back to his original position.

"All the 'Con elites are _dead_, all except _you_," the rough Wrecker sneered at him, taking a step forward and kicking the already downed Ford.

It was all just too much. Barricade let out a pained, shrill screech even as he tried to curl inward on himself. The pain, the devastation, the outright unbelievability of it all. Everyone but him was _dead_. His beliefs no longer mattered. The Autobots were the ruling faction, now; and they had complete and firm control over this little backwater planet. Every Decepticon he knew was offline. Soundwave, Shockwave, Megatron, the Dreads… Wait. Were the Dreads all dead? Even if not, did it matter? They were all scrap anyway. It was only a matter of time before they were all offlined, the Autobot's behavior towards himself was proof of that. There was no way he was going to make it out of this alive, would he?

"I defect, you slagger! Leave me alone! I defect!" Barricade snarled as he attempted to push himself to his peds once last time.

"Barricade, I do not see how we can allow you to live. We all know the danger you possess to the humans. I cannot have that threat looming over my head," Optimus finally replied to the interceptor's left.

"Then I'll join the Autobots!" Barricade grit out, the phase tasting like poison in his mouth. He didn't like the idea of joining and submitting himself to the dull fighting styles that the Autobots had. But then again, considering the viciousness of the way they fought today, at the moment, they weren't much different than Decepticons. "I can take orders, I can fight for your side. What do I have to do to not slagging die?!"

There was a long pause, and once more Barricade wished he could see the Prime as he spoke to him. Finally, though, the red and blue semi continued. "Very well. You swear it on your spark that you will join the Autobots and submit yourself to our authority?"

"I do, and by my spark… it is signed and committed…" the interceptor breathed, angling his head downwards, and transforming one gun away, he brought his fist up to rest over his spark as he unsteadily knelt down, angling himself as best as he could towards Prime.

"To the very end, should either I or you offline?" Optimus Prime continued his part of the vow.

"Indeed. To the very end…" Barricade murmured, keeping his head angled downwards as he pledged himself to the Autobots and the Peterbuilt.

"Good… Ratchet, go ahead." Optimus turned away from the former Decepticon and left.

The Saleen heard the soft thumps of some bot approach him before he felt's the medic's gentle hand steady him, lifting him upright as he ran a scan over the black and white. "You're fairly critical, I think I'll need to both evac you and Prime out of here for immediate repairs back at the base. Unfortunately, Wheeljack won't be able to help me now, so I'll try and get you stable before we get to the base."

Barricade flinched at the mild rebuke, but puzzled over what Ratchet had said, feeling his core systems shutting down as the stress of the situation faded and his systems properly recognized the damage he had taken.

"Prime, also, has taken a good deal of damage?" The interceptor questioned, trying to catch Ratchet's reply as he slipped further towards complete shut-down.

"He lost an arm to Sentinel." It was the last thing Barricade heard as his CPU faded, his conscience offlined, and he passed out, slumping forwards into Ratchet's shoulder.


	2. It's cold

**A/N Short chapter is short and angst-y. This is what happens when I am upset and need to vent. I write. And I tend to write Barricade, because it is so easy for me to vent while writing him. So, enjoy this short prelude to whatever is going to happen next. This is not going to be regularly updated, unlike my Cars story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Barricade, sadly. The people at Hasbro/Takara do. I don't own Optimus, or Prowl, or Brawn, or Huffer. I do own my own writing, and if you steal it, that is a copyright violation, and I can and will come after you for it. Or, if you prefer, I'll simply send Barricade after you and make your death mostly quick and mostly painless…. Mostly. Lol.**

**Joking aside, here is what I wrote. Enjoy. And please comment if you would. I enjoy and appreciate all types of responses.**

**_Edit: Last night when I posted that it was all stream of conscience. No editing. I have edited where I believe it would benefit the streamline of the story. It should read better now._**

**_Edit: Made some grammar chances made by Happy Guest. Thank you very much!_**

Darkness surrounded the black interceptor, and it was a mask he welcomed. Within the base at his back was an environment that went against every fibre of his being. It was _hard_ being around the Autobots. Barricade was a naturally dark, reclusive mech who kept to the shadows to observe and avoid detection unless called upon.

The bright cheeriness of the base was sickening.

Whatever mech or human (thought it was more than likely a mech who reminisced of the architecture of Iacon) had decided the walls ought to be painted a stark contrast of _yellow_ and _red_ throughout the entire base ought to be taken out back and shot, preferably with a lot of bullets, preferably by the Saleen himself.

Barricade put out a taloned hand out to rest on the mech-sized railing with a view overlooking the amber-shadowed parking lot of the base there on Diego Garcia. The gentle golden orange glow from the street lamps posted like sentinels through the small, dished parking-lot shadowed the few vehicles that remained there at this time of the night: two heavily armored Humvees and a jeep. More than likely, the two armored H-1s were there because the human Lieutenant Colonel William Lennox needed to discuss something or another with Optimus Prime. The jeep was probably being used by a random officer who had buddied up with another Autobot and was visiting briefly.

This was a less human-populated section of the N.E.S.T. base here on the tropical island, the sleeping quarters and the rec room where some of the less human-friendly Autobots (and yes, it was possible because Barricade had needed to see it with his own optics to believe it) relaxed and spent their time off-duty.

Mirage seemed to be the worst of all the Autobots on base (other than himself of course) who loathed the sentient meat-bags of this planet. If you discounted a few of the mini-bots like Brawn and Huffer (oh, how the interceptor wished to tear that whiner a new tail-pipe at times).

The Saleen noticed in a moment in which he was not currently lost in thought—and trying readily to dismiss all his troubles at the moment—his hand gripping the railing was shaking just a little bit.

"Primus frag it…" he muttered darkly.

It was only a few weeks after the devastation in Chicago. There had been few casualties on the Autobot's side. Even now, with the addition of a new Autobot every few days, and the various Allspark fragments that were being picked up even now… the Autobot ranks were growing rapidly, and Barricade wondered if the end of the war was in sight.

"It is a little brisk tonight, for the island."

The voice was calm and quiet, spoken softly enough so as to avoid startling the former Decepticon. There had been a few instances already, when Barricade first arrived at the Autobot base (particularly before Ratchet had managed to replace his shattered optics, though after too), where a particular Autobot had managed to catch the black and white in a moment of musing, completely off guard and unaware of said Autobot's approach. The results had been unpleasant for both parties, but he'd avoided _seriously_ injuring bots thus-far.

Barricade turned to look at the other faux-cop car, the Charger's ram guard mirroring Barricade's own. Ford versus Dodge. Black and white. This was where the similarities ended between Prowl and Barricade, however. The Autobot 2IC was taller than Barricade, with larger, more prominent wing panels on his back, and a bright chevron crested on his forehead.

"The weather on this planet does not get to the extremes at which it can harm our systems. The idea of it being 'cooler' or 'warmer' is immaterial."

Barricade's response was completely fact-based, and not really a response the tactician was probably expecting. Under different circumstances, the Saleen may have given a different answer, but this was Prowl, and the former Decepticon was not so forthcoming at the moment. He had come out here to be left alone for once. To be surrounded and welcomed by the darkness that was his.

Prowl didn't seem to take the hint, or he had embodied far more of his partner's spark than the last time Barricade had known the Charger. The interceptor could not imagine the cruiser would ever wish to take time out of his busy schedule to simply talk to his obviously (or… not so obviously) troubled double.

"A logical response. All the same, it does bring a particular mist to the air that can chill one's internal systems a fraction towards the less efficient side."

"I like where I am." Barricade responded bluntly, gripping the railing a little tighter with sharpened digits. "The rain and darkness are pleasant, as well as the cold."

"Very well. I expect you to be up at the assigned time and to be performing optimally for your next assignment."

Prowl turned to leave, but lingered a moment. Barricade could read the uncertainty in his stance. The way the mech's chest was lifted, as though having cycled in air, and not cycled it out. The tenseness of the visible chords and cables and joints. The position of his armor—close, hackles lifted ever _so_ slightly, almost imperceptivily except to Barricade's extremely fine-tuned sensory array.

"I'll be there, performing as optimally as my still-healing systems can."

It was a strange response, yet conveyed more than might a once over only reveal. He was doing poorly, but would feel better soon. Things took time to heal. Sometimes a lot of time. And Primus and Unicron and Prime and Prowl could all just wait till he was better before they could see his full potential—whatever that was. If there even _was_ anything beyond the ability to fight for his life—an attribute he'd had since the time he was sparked—in the short interceptor. The trait came natural in gladiators, after all.


End file.
